


The Art of Right Now

by angejolras



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: F/M, Roman Holiday AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 18:04:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13595466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angejolras/pseuds/angejolras
Summary: After becoming fed up with her hectic life as crown princess, Anastasia escapes her country's embassy in Rome one night for just one night of freedom. After a sleep-inducing drug takes effect far too late, Dmitry Sudayev, Russian-American reporter, finds the drowsy young princess on a park bench and, not recognising her as royalty, decides to take her home with him, and everything changes.(ON INDEFINITE HIATUS)





	The Art of Right Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's up?? so mel encouraged me to write this and so this happened, i love you babe <3
> 
> this is my first attempt at writing for this pairing and for anastasia in general!! i hope it's good enough!!

_“Paramount News brings you a special coverage of Princess Anastasia’s European goodwill tour…”_

Dmitry Sudayev, Russian-American reporter two months behind on rent, walks back into his tiny apartment with a cup of coffee in hand, bringing a hand to his mouth and letting out a yawn as he sits down on the sofa to watch the news coverage of Princess Anastasia’s tour through Europe from his tiny television, his mind wandering to thoughts of the upcoming press conference with the princess tomorrow as he absently sips his coffee, watching the news and wondering how the press conference would go. Sunlight streamed in through the open window as Dmitry looked upon the dainty face of the princess on his television set, sipping his coffee and leaning back against the backrest of the sofa.

 _“First up we have the princess’s visit to London, the first step on her heavily publicised goodwill tour of European capitals,”_ the narrator yammers on as Dmitry attempts to actually pay attention, letting out another yawn. _“The princess received a royal welcome from the British as thousands cheered the gracious young member of one of Europe’s oldest ruling families, and after three days of constant activity and a visit to Buckingham Palace, Anastasia flew to Amsterdam, where Her Royal Highness dedicated the new International Aid Building and christened an ocean liner.”_

Dmitry catches himself smiling just a tiny bit at the footage of the beautiful young princess, finding her sweet and charming and somewhat doll-like, what with her perfectly coiffed hair and fair complexion and various outfits that are quite pleasing to the eye. She’s been likened to a goddess before by various reporters—though small, she’s quite intimidating due to her royal status, and she’s unattainable, and seemingly emotionless in the face of her duties. Dmitry thinks said reporters who liken her to a goddess are reaching too far, though he’s beginning to have second thoughts as he watches the footage of Anastasia on his teeny television screen.

 _“Anastasia then went to Paris, where she attended many official functions that were designed to cement trade relations between her country and the Western European nations,”_ the narrator goes on. Dmitry listens with the slightest hint of interest as he toys with the hem of his brown suit jacket, absent-mindedly sipping the rest of his coffee and alternating his gaze between the television and the hem of his jacket. _“And so to Rome, the eternal city, where the princess’s visit was marked by a sensational military parade highlighted by the band of the crack Bersaglieri Regiment. The smiling young princess showed no sign of the pressure of the week’s incessant public appearances.”_

The footage of the princess that follows shows Anastasia standing in an elevated box above the crowds with a polite smile on her face and a whole entourage standing behind her as she watches the military parade, seemingly hiding any trace of emotion other than supposed happiness. Dmitry finds it rather strange that she displays no sign of exhaustion, but he supposes that’s what one does when one is royalty—you have to remain apathetic at all times.

 _“At her country’s embassy this evening, a formal reception and ball in her honour will be given by her country’s ambassador to Italy,”_ the narrator finishes before the newsreel comes to an end. Dmitry gets to his feet and places his empty cup of coffee on the bedside table, walking out to the balcony and gazing out at the city. Noon is just beginning to approach, the sun rising high over the city, and Dmitry looks down at the streets and watches the people come and go for lack of a better, more entertaining activity he could be doing. He supposes he could always meet up with Vlad at a café to simply chat about the upcoming press conference with the princess, but he’s probably off doing things with that Sophie girl of his, and Dmitry would rather die than voluntarily go see Gleb Vaganov, his shark of an editor, so he goes back inside, picking up the newspaper from that morning and beginning to read as thoughts of the princess fade away from his mind.

* * *

Grandly dressed people of various nations mill about in the embassy ballroom, patiently awaiting the princess’s appearance as they chat amongst themselves about her, wondering when the young princess would be gracing them with her presence. Their attention is soon captured by the sound of a fanfare, and instinctively, the guests clear a path between them as the master of ceremonies steps out and announces, “Her Royal Highness, the Princess Anastasia!”

The guests watch attentively as the young princess enters the ballroom, accompanied by the ambassador and closely followed by her lady-in-waiting Countess Lily, the general, and other people of great importance from her home country. The small princess’s gait is smooth and elegant as she makes her way down the aisle, dressed in a splendid red ball gown, diamond tiara, and simple diamond necklace resting against her collarbone, and she nods in acknowledgement to the guests and smiles as she and the ambassador make their way to the front. Once they all do so, the princess steps up on the dais as the band stops playing, and she’s about to sit down before the ambassador stops her from doing so, gesturing towards all the people forming a line before her. Anastasia tries not to sigh aloud and plasters a smile on her face, beginning to greet the guests.

“His Excellency, the Papal Nuncio, Monsignor Altomonte,” the master of ceremonies announces. Anastasia smiles at the man approaching her, greeting him warmly in Italian as he does the same. Her feet are beginning to hurt from her uncomfortable high-heeled shoes and she rubs her ankles together underneath her gown, longing to take them off.

“Sir Hugo Macey de Farmington,” the master of ceremonies continues. Anastasia curtseys as the man bows, and she reaches out to shake his hand.

“Good evening, Sir Hugo,” she greets, a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes plastered on her face.

“Good evening, Your Highness,” he responds politely, stepping aside so the next guest could greet the princess.

Anastasia’s feet are really beginning to hurt now, and she figures that there’s no harm in momentarily taking off her shoes beneath her gown; besides, it’s not like anyone could see it, anyway. She pulls her right foot out of her shoe, flexing her foot in an attempt to relieve the cramps as she continues to greet the guests, the smile on her face becoming even more false as the evening drags on and she tries to relieve her feet of the pain, scratching her left foot against the back of her right ankle.

Twenty minutes have passed and Anastasia is still greeting the guests, still trying to discreetly take her shoes off underneath her gown. “The Count and Countess von Marstrand,” the master of ceremonies announces. The countess curtsies before the young princess as she reaches out to shake her hand.

“Good evening, Countess,” Anastasia tells her cordially, then shaking the count’s hand as she says, “Good evening.” Beneath her dress, she knocks her shoe over and stumbles slightly when her foot slides over the shoe, Countess Lily reaching out to help balance her. As the next guests approach her, Anastasia prudently tries to move her shoe under her dress with her foot as she continues to greet the guests and shake their hands, growing tired by the redundancy of it all. Just as the last guest comes up to greet her, she manages to move her shoe back towards her other foot before she accidentally kicks it further away, and before she could pull it back towards herself, her entourage sits down, leading to her doing the same. The shoe is left on the dais, completely exposed to the guests.

The band begins to play a graceful waltz as Anastasia discreetly attempts to stick her leg out to pull her shoe back towards her, pretending to readjust her long white gloves to distract the guests from what she’s currently doing. She keeps stealing nervous glances downward, attempting to drag her shoe back with her foot, and behind her, the general notices the shoe on the dais and it’s all he can do to keep himself from sighing out loud. Countess Lily closes her eyes upon noticing the shoe and bites her lip as the ambassador stands up and offers his arm to Anastasia, trying to distract from the offending shoe. Anastasia’s blue eyes widen and she steals one more glance downward, tentatively standing up and throwing her skirt over her shoe, trying to manipulate it back towards her foot. She reluctantly begins to waltz with the ambassador, the picture of sophisticated grace, and in doing so, she manages to get her shoe back on.

All eyes are on her as she waltzes around the ballroom.

* * *

Anastasia stands on top of her extravagant bed in her bedroom in the embassy, looking around at her surroundings in distaste as she brushes her long strawberry blonde hair. She’s dressed in a pale pink nightgown and her hair is clipped back, and she lifts up the skirt of her nightgown before letting it go. “I hate this nightgown,” she announces sullenly, reaching behind her head to gather her hair as she brushes it. “I hate all my nightgowns. I hate all my underwear too.”

“My dear, you have lovely things!” Lily points out as she makes her way back over to the bed, checking her watch for the time and brushing stray hair out of her face. It’s all Anastasia can do to keep herself from groaning out loud.

“But I’m not two hundred years old!” she complains, crouching down as Lily comes face to face with her from the side of her bed. “Why can’t I sleep in pyjamas?”

“ _Pyjamas?_ ” Lily sounds aghast at the mere idea of it, wondering why a princess such as her would ever want to sleep in such things.

“Just the top part,” Anastasia amends, staring pointedly back at Lily. She’s suffered through all these itchy nightgowns her whole life; why can’t she wear pyjamas just once? When the countess doesn’t respond and instead walks away, Anastasia pulls the blanket over her legs and continues with a hint of indignation in her tone, “Did you know there are people who sleep with absolutely _nothing_ on?”

Lily’s just closed a window before she turns around at the princess’s words, saying curtly, “I’m pleased to say that I did not, until you ruined it by telling me.”

Anastasia leans back against the headboard, her pout slowly morphing into a smile upon hearing the distant music coming in through the window. “Listen!” She jumps up to scramble off the bed, running towards the window to gaze out at the lights and the people dancing below. She longs for that kind of life sometimes—a simpler life, a life in which she doesn’t have to carry so much burden on her shoulders like she currently does.

“Oh, Nastya, your slippers!” Lily lets out a loud sigh of exasperation and goes back to retrieve the princess’s slippers as Anastasia stares out the window, entranced by the sight of the dancing people and the yellow lights. She jumps slightly when Lily comes back with her slippers, hearing the countess say, “Please put on your slippers and come away from the window.”

Anastasia petulantly slides her feet into her slippers and pouts as she makes her way back to the bed, dragging her feet, while Lily closes the window once again, and Anastasia clambers into bed when Lily picks up the tray of food from the table nearby and approaches her with it. “Your milk and crackers,” she tells Anastasia amiably as the young princess covers herself with the blanket.

“Everything we do is so wholesome,” Anastasia scoffs, pulling the blanket over herself and frowning as Lily places the tray in her lap. She wishes she could catch a single break, just one—a break from constant public appearances and incessant meetings with people would do her good, she can just tell.

“They’ll help you to sleep,” Lily informs her, turning away to pick up a book from the bedside table.

“I’m too tired to sleep,” Anastasia replies stubbornly, picking up a napkin and fiddling with it absently. “I shan’t sleep a wink.”

Lily chooses to ignore Anastasia’s words as she pulls out her glasses, saying, “Now, Nastya, if you don’t mind, tomorrow’s schedule.” She runs through the list with a pen, clicking her tongue as Anastasia fidgets with a lace napkin. “Eight thirty, breakfast here with the embassy staff; nine o’clock, we leave for the Polinari Automotive Works, where you’ll be presented with a small car.”

“Thank you,” Anastasia recites in disinterest, frowning glumly as she fidgets with the napkin.

Lily looks up from the list. “Which you won’t accept,” she adds.

“No, thank you,” Anastasia corrects herself, unable to keep the loud sigh from escaping her lips. She’s _exhausted_ —can nobody see that?

“Ten thirty-five, inspection of food and agricultural organisation, who will present you with an olive tree,” Lily continues, running through the list.

“No, thank you,” Anastasia responds, defaulting to her last answer as she takes a bite out of a cracker.

Lily stops and looks up once again. “Which you _will_ accept!”

Anastasia sighs and tries not to roll her eyes, amending, “Thank you.”

Lily smiles approvingly and goes through the list once again, saying, “Ten fifty-five, the new Foundling Home for Orphans. You’ll preside over the laying of the cornerstone; same speech as last Monday.”

Anastasia stops and looks up. “Trade relations?”

“Yes,” Lily replies absent-mindedly.

Anastasia furrows her brow in confusion. “For the orphans?”

After pausing momentarily, Lily corrects herself, “No, no, the other one.”

“Youth and progress,” Anastasia recites along with Lily, dipping her cracker in her milk and taking a bite out of it, making a face at the bland taste.

“Eleven forty-five, back here to rest,” Lily continues, scanning the list once again. “Oh, no, that’s not right—eleven forty-five, conference here with the press.”

“‘Sweetness and decency’,” Anastasia asserts, rolling her eyes wearily.

“One o’clock sharp, lunch with the foreign ministry,” Lily goes on. “You will wear your white lace and carry a bouquet of—”

“Very small pink roses,” Anastasia finishes for the countess, taking another bite out of her cracker and sighing. As Lily continues to read through the list, the princess begins to rattle off the standard replies—it’s all just the same anyway, isn’t it? “Thank you.” Her life is hectic, always having to keep a smile on her face, always needing to act ladylike, the epitome of sophistication and poise—she doesn’t have the freedom anymore to do as she pleases like she had when she was child, growing up with her siblings until they and their parents were killed in that coup, leading to her Nana taking over as ruler of their country. “No, thank you.” Anastasia’s life has been under strict control ever since her parents and her sisters and brother were killed, now that she’s the crown princess and next in line to the throne. “How do you do?” All that responsibility was piled on a seventeen-year-old girl in one dreadful instant, and now, seven years later, it’s really begun to trouble her, with the fact that her public appearances are becoming more and more frequent. “Charmed.” She’s beginning to grow distressed now, not even hearing what Lily is saying as she thinks of the dreary, stressful, inevitable future looming before her, a life from which there’s no escape. “So happy…”

Lily hasn’t noticed her distress until Anastasia loses it at last and screams, “STOP!”

Jumping at the princess’s tone of voice, Lily places the small book back on the bedside table and tries to soothe Anastasia, who turns away and lets her hair cover her face, shaking as she pleads, “Please, stop, stop!”

Lily retrieves the tray of milk and crackers from the princess, telling her gently, “It’s all right, dear, it didn’t spill.”

“I don’t care if it’s spilled or not,” Anastasia defiantly retorts, throwing her head into a pillow. “I don’t care if I drowned in it!”

Lily hurries back over to the princess, placing her hands on Anastasia’s shoulders and telling her soothingly, “My dear, you’re ill. I’ll send for Dr. Botkin.”

Anastasia flips over, looking the opposite way and glaring at the wall as if she wishes to burn a hole into it. “I don’t want Dr. Botkin. Let me die in peace!”

“You’re not dying,” Lily tells her, taking deep breaths and trying not to let herself grow impatient at the princess’s outburst.

Anastasia turns over to face the countess once again. “Leave me,” she demands, sitting up. “Leave me!”

“It’s nerves,” Lily says firmly, a hint of exasperation creeping into her tone. “Control yourself, Nastya.”

Anastasia flips over and buries her face in her pillow once more, pounding at it with a clenched fist as she cries out stubbornly, “I don’t want to!”

“ _Anastasia_.” When the princess doesn’t respond, merely continuing to blubber into the pillow and beat it with her fist, Lily stands up straight, saying with authority, “Your Highness.” Anastasia still doesn’t respond, simply continuing to blubber into her pillow, undoubtedly staining it with her tears. Lily begins to make her way towards the door, telling the princess, “I’ll get Dr. Botkin.”

“It’s no use!” Anastasia shouts at last, lifting her head just in time to see Lily exit the room. “I’ll be dead before he gets here.” She lets out a defiant blub and buries her face in her pillow once more.

Her eyes are closed when she hears the door open, and she restrains herself from opening her eyes to take a peek when she hears familiar voices speaking. “She’s asleep,” the puzzled voice of Dr. Botkin points out, seeming to grow near.

“She was in hysterics three minutes ago, Doctor,” Lily replies, her voice low. There seems to be a third person with them, but Anastasia can’t quite tell whom.

The voice of Dr. Botkin draws near as he asks, “Your Highness, are you asleep?”

Still motionless, keeping her eyes closed, Anastasia obstinately responds, “No.”

She shifts when she feels Dr. Botkin move closer to her, opening her eyes at last to stare up at him as he says gently, “I’ll only disturb Your Royal Highness for a moment.” He places his hand against her forehead, testing for a fever before he takes a thermometer out of his bag.

“I—I’m very ashamed, Dr. Botkin,” Anastasia tells him shakily as he places the thermometer under her tongue as she continues, “suddenly I—I was crying.”

Dr. Botkin pats her shoulder in reassurance, telling her kindly, “To cry is a perfectly normal thing to do.”

“It’s most important that she be calm and relaxed for the press conference, Doctor,” Lily reminds him quietly from behind his back. The princess simply can’t be seen in such a state.

“D-don’t worry, Doctor,” Anastasia manages to say, sitting up and taking the thermometer out of her mouth, “I—I’ll be calm—calm and relaxed and I’ll—I’ll bow and I’ll smile and I’ll improve—improve trade relations, and I—I will—” It all becomes too much once again and she buries her face back in the pillow, once again in hysterics, wailing loudly.

Lily sighs and presses a hand to her heart. “There she goes again.” Turning to Dr. Botkin with a desperate look in her eyes, she pleads, “Give her something, Doctor, _please_.”

Dr. Botkin takes out a syringe, gesturing towards the hysterical princess and asking Lily, “Will you please uncover her arm?”

The general behind them turns away as Anastasia calms down just slightly, asking, “What’s that?”

“Sleep and calm,” Dr. Botkin replies kindly, giving the young princess a smile as she frowns at the sight of the syringe. “This will relax you and make Your Highness feel a little happy. It’s a new drug; quite harmless.” Anastasia watches as he injects her arm with the drug, noticing how the general faints behind them but not saying anything about it. “There you go.”

Anastasia frowns once again at the slight sting of the syringe. “I don’t feel anything.”

“You will,” Dr. Botkin assures her, patting her shoulder. “It may take some time to hold. Just now, lie back, okay?”

Anastasia looks up. “Can I keep just one light on?”

“Of course,” Dr. Botkin replies, affable as ever as he picks up his bag once again. “Best thing I know is to do exactly what you wish for a while.”

Anastasia musters a smile. “Thank you, Doctor.”

Lily turns around and lets out a shriek at the sight of the general lying on the floor. “Oh, Doctor! The general!”

“Oh!” Dr. Botkin kneels down beside the man as Anastasia sits up in bed, letting out a little squawk of a laugh before she covers her mouth to hide her smile at the reprimanding look she receives from Lily. The general gets to his feet, straightening his robe and turning red in embarrassment.

“I’m perfectly all right,” he reassures them all, nodding at the princess. “Good night, Your Highness.” He hurriedly makes his way over to the door and exits the bedroom without waiting to be dismissed, and Dr. Botkin soon follows after bidding Anastasia goodbye, soon followed by Lily, who turns off all the lights anyway, before leaving Anastasia alone in the room.

She lies on her back in bed, letting out a great, heaving sigh as she falls back against her pillow and looks around the lavish room—just one of the many gilded cages she’s been forced to stay in all throughout her tour through Europe. She frowns at how extravagant and _ancient_ everything looks, wondering when exactly this room was constructed as she gazes up at the elaborate ornamentation on the ceiling, depicting angels and cherubs, and she looks up at the intricately carved gold headboard, looking up at the silk curtains that are drawn to both sides of the headboard. Hearing the faint sounds of slow, sultry music drifting in through the crack in the window, Anastasia eagerly climbs out of bed and rushes over to the window, carefully prying it open to gaze longingly down at the people, all dancing and laughing merrily. She feels a cool breeze blow against her face as she gazes out at the twinkling lights of the city, hundreds of stars scattered across the heavens above, the distant buildings lit up in the night.

How she wishes to spend a day away from all the responsibility, a day where anything is possible.

Anastasia looks back at the shut door, beginning to get an idea. Maybe she can.

She immediately makes her way into her closet, rummaging about for some plain clothes to disguise her royal status, and moments later, her silk nightgown is a puddle on the floor and she’s dressed in a plain, long-sleeved white blouse, a wide black belt with a silver buckle, a blue skirt, and comfortable, low-heeled black shoes, and she takes her gloves from the top of her dresser and quickly pulls them on before marching over to the door, opening it just a crack just in time to see the sleeping guard stir at the sound of the door creaking open. Quickly shutting it, she pauses, considering her other ways of escape before she runs over to the window, carefully climbing up onto the edge of the balcony leading to an empty room. Furtively looking around, she makes sure there’s nobody around as she leaps to the ground, landing on her feet before she goes into the enormous, empty room. Pausing to look on either side of her, she hears the faint sound of footsteps and begins to quietly run, padding along until she hears the sound of a door closing, stopping in her tracks and freezing in fear at the sound, an overwhelming whirl of emotions coursing through her all in one instant at the idea of being caught.

After hesitating for several agonising moments, she decides to take the risk and start running again, making her way down the stairs and outside into the courtyard, looking over her shoulder to see the shadow of a man against the back wall, beginning to run even faster upon seeing it, and once she reaches another section of the courtyard, she stops to catch her breath, pressing her back against the wall and seeing a man jumping out of a small supply truck.

A devious little grin appearing on her face, Anastasia looks around to make sure nobody is there as the man disappears from sight, and she runs over to silently hop into the back of the truck. She’s hidden behind the supplies by the time the man comes back to toss two bags into the back, getting into the car and starting the motor. A thrill of excitement courses through Anastasia, in her bones, in her veins, as the truck begins to move, and she keeps herself carefully concealed until the truck reaches the gates. Peeking out, she watches as the gates of the embassy close behind her and she sits up straight, watching as the embassy shrinks as the truck drives farther away, and she smiles a smile of giddiness and exhilaration when that damned embassy building is finally out of sight.

She’s free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that was just the beginning. what did you think of it?? i'd love to hear your thoughts!!

**Author's Note:**

> **ON HIATUS**
> 
> hey, it's me, this is just a note telling you dear readers that i haven't abandoned this fic and i have absolutely no intention of abandoning it as of right now, but it _is_ on hiatus due to me having a fuckton of projects due and finals to study for. i haven't written any other chapters for this fic yet—the reason why i'm frequently updating another fic is because i already have it finished and i just need to post it chapter by chapter—and chapter two is a beast to write and i won't have an awful lot of time to write it, so i sincerely apologise for the wait!! i promise i'll be back, i just don't know when. i won't abandon this fic, though! thank you so much for your time :D


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